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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622589">grown quiet at the name of love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikes/pseuds/tauraya'>tauraya (karikes)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we sat together at one summer's end [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Disabled Character, Costco only makes an appearance as the snake this time my apologies, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Polyamory, and some Learning to Be a People, canon can go fuck itself, less mild swearing, still set in the same au where, uhhhh and</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:22:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikes/pseuds/tauraya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bucky wanders in just as she’s sitting down to eat. “You wanna have a Teen Wolf marathon when you’re done eating?”</i>
</p><p>  <i>Nat pauses halfway through cutting her yolk. “Maybe,” she says. “Will you get me some grapes?”</i></p><p>  <i>“Grapes are gone,” Bucky says. “Stevie and I demolished ‘em this morning. Sam helped.”</i></p><p>  <i>“I had a single cluster,” Sam insists. “Those two will eat just to eat, I swear.”</i></p><p>  <i>Bucky turns his puppy dog eyes on full blast. “But all I had was nutrient slurry through a tube for eighty years. Aren’t you glad I get to enjoy food to the fullest, Sammy?”</i></p><p>In which I'm back with more domestic poly shenanigans in a completely unplanned sequel ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(and all the variations thereof), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we sat together at one summer's end [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>grown quiet at the name of love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHCombatalade/gifts">SHCombatalade</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>bro...I don't even fucking know. I just live here!!!</p><p>Anyways- I'm not living in massive denial anymore, so I wrote <i>this</i> fic with the full knowledge I'm poly and queer and it possibly slaps even more than the last one because of that?? Idk, though, I'm just the author.</p><p>It's been A Time the last couple weeks....I'm probably forgetting smth I actually wanted to say here but oh well. Title is from <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43285/adams-curse">Adam's Curse</a> yet again, as is the series title! (Also...yes. I <i>did</i> realize I quoted the other title wrong multiple years ago and just now changed it, you aren't imagining things.)</p><p>There might be more in this universe...I don't even fuckin know y'all. Life be crazy and unpredictable. Regardless: this shit was fun to write both times I've been here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nat turns onto her back, flinging her arm out. Her brow furrows after a few seconds, and she shifts a little before patting the empty sheets beside her. She cracks her eyes open to discover she is- somehow- alone in bed. One of the dogs isn’t even hanging out at her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bucky says from the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat blinks fuzzily and reaches up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “You’re out of bed before me. There’s something wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he replies, his mouth popping slightly on the p sound. “You just came to bed at three am and we decided to let you sleep in. Sam owes me ten bucks. He said you wouldn’t sleep past nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns to look at the clock on Steve’s nightstand, squinting a little. It says it’s nine forty-seven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” she says. “I would have bet against me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shrugs. “Anyways, it’s a forage for yourself morning because </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> ate all the oatmeal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat groans, stretching her arms above her head. “Fucking Steve,” she says, with absolutely no vitriol in her voice. “Oatmeal fiend. Eating at the pace of a snail and somehow demolishing it all before I’m awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let him hear you, or he’ll give you puppy dog eyes and make you apologize for hurting his feelings,” Bucky says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam appears behind him, waving a ten dollar bill. “Here’s your ten bucks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>. G’morning, Nat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” she replies, shoving back the covers. “Did you and the oatmeal fiend use up all the hot water this morning, or can I comfortably take a shower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam grins. “You should be fine. We showered together to save water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Nat replies, disbelief clear in her voice. “I bet you saved </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much water by having shower sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Bucky’s turn to grin. “Want me to help you save water, Nat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. “Maybe I want some alone time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, Nat,” Bucky says, easy and sly like he does when he’s jonesing to kiss her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” she replies, and walks over to kiss him to actually shut him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really want some alone time?” He asks once she’s pulled away, her arms still loosely wrapped around his neck. His hand rests on her hip, a barely there pressure she wants him to increase. But she also wants a shower and to eat something, and is too old at this point in time to throw all that to the wind for sex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam slaps Bucky’s shoulder before turning away. “If she does, I promised Steve I’d learn how to French braid your hair today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky raises an eyebrow at Nat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “Go get your hair braided. I’ll be quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says softly. “Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles and kisses him again. It’s not that she’s never said it back, she just doesn’t say it with the easy frequency that the rest of them do. She probably never will, but they don’t seem to care, so she tries not to stress about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky releases her hip and she steps back, running her hands through her hair. “Is there coffee left at least?” she asks as she walks to the en suite and turns the shower on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam made it this morning so it’s actually good,” is Bucky’s slightly muffled response, which seems to indicate coffee might be scarce. Whatever. She can get the pitcher of iced coffee from the fridge if she really needs. It’s September, but it hasn’t started to cool down yet, and while the fan is running in their bedroom, they don’t have AC. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There has been talk bandied about about getting AC installed and updating the heater while they’re at it, because it doesn’t work super well. Nat privately thinks that having two supersoldier space heaters is plenty good enough for her. Besides, she lived in Russia for a long ass time. She doesn’t care. Sam, the only normal human out of all of them, puts up a bit of a fuss. But Bucky lets him stick his cold feet all over his legs, and Steve even allows him to wear socks during sex in the winter. And no one is going to complain about anyone walking around in any state of undress during the summer. They’re real good about opening the house up at night and closing it in the morning while it’s still cool anyways. Plus none of them really want a bunch of workers coming in and out of their house and all up in their business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha strips and pees before getting in the shower, where she indiscriminately uses Bucky’s shampoo and Steve’s bodywash. However, Sam’s conditioner is too heavy for her hair so she uses her own. She debates if she wants to shave or not and decides against it. The guys are all kinds of hairy and just don’t give a shit, so it really is up to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she’s wrapped a towel around her body and shrugged at her dripping hair in the fogged up mirror, she goes back into the bedroom to get dressed. Lulu’s tags clink as she sniffs the rug beneath their bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha sighs and goes to pick her up. “Hey, sweetheart. You get bored hanging out with the boys and their braiding?” Lulu huffs out a breath of air and licks Nat’s nose. “Girl time, huh,” Nat continues. “You want to help me pick out my outfit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lulu licks her face, but Nat nods as if she said something in response and takes Lulu into the closet with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, Natasha doesn’t really dress up left to her own devices. That’s a mask, and while it might be fun every once in a while, she likes wearing super casual clothing. It’s comfortable and she doesn’t have to pretend to be someone else while she’s in it, in her own home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still feels funny to call it </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> home, because she’s never had a home before. And while it’s been two years, she still struggles with the concept at times. But she’s got not one, not two, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> boyfriends who have majorly got her six, and she’s been learning how to well and truly relax lately. Bucky makes her sit out in the camping chairs with him and the dogs sometimes. She isn’t allowed to bring a single weapon, not even a hairpin, and he encourages her to just listen to the birds and watch the grass move. The only thing she’s allowed to do (if she so chooses) is read or talk with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gets it. She knows why he does it, why Sam and Steve encourage it. But she retired a lot later than the three of them, and she spent her entire life on high alert. The whole thing. She doesn’t even have a half-remembered before like Bucky does. Steve says having a before makes it somewhat worse, honestly, because he was forced to rest when he didn’t want to and therefore learning to </span>
  <em>
    <span>choose </span>
  </em>
  <span>rest was a whole other kettle of fish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I still have to fuckin’ sit on you sometimes,” Bucky had said, and thumped Steve’s chest with his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat sets Lulu down to slip on a sundress, not bothering with a bra or underwear. The dress nearly hits her knees, anyways, and it’s not like her boobs are big enough she needs a bra. Besides, she’s prioritizing comfort, and she kind of hates feeling constricted these days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She picks Lulu up again, propping her against her hip like a baby as she makes her way downstairs. Bucky’s inspecting his braid in the downstairs bathroom mirror as Sam waits in the living room, arms crossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did a good job,” is the verdict. “But not as good as Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, get the hell out of here,” Sam says, indignant. “It’s my first try. And I made it tight like you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky wanders back in. “Yes, but it’s obvious Steve’s got more practice than you. Guess you’ll just have to practice a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess I will,” Sam says, and kisses Bucky’s forehead. He has to lean up on his tiptoes to do it, which makes Nat smirk. The boys are all kinds of funny about their heights. The one thing they agree on is that Nat is Too Fucking Short and they get cricks in her neck kissing her, which is why she gets picked up to be kissed a good two-thirds of the time. Sam usually ends up rolling his eyes and just kissing her like a regular person. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> pick her up, and he most certainly does, but he doesn’t have a superiority complex about it, which is nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat rolls </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes and walks into the kitchen, setting Lulu down on the way. She inspects the coffee pot, decides that what’s left is close enough to a cup, and pours it into a neon pink mug Bucky picked out at the thrift store last year. That goes into the microwave while she peers into the fridge. The Costco run happened a week ago, so they’re still good for another couple days (probably), but pickings are starting to look slim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a couple sausages left in the package,” Sam says behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> jump, because Bucky’s forceful relaxation exercises only do so much against a lifetime of vigilance. She does sigh and pull open the drawer in the fridge with the sausages. Sam gets down the cast iron skillet for her, smiling. (Giants. She lives with fucking giants and has to deal with their jokes about the stepstool she needs to put away dishes, but at least they look real nice when they’re reaching to get things and their shirts ride up.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling. Damn, he has a nice smile. While they arguably have spent the least amount of time knowing each other, their physical chemistry has never been in question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There would have been a time not that long ago, that she would have snapped someone’s head off for daring to call her that. But that’s another thing she’s learning: how to let herself be loved. It’s hard. Two years in and it still doesn’t come as easily as she’d like. It’s often too much, but she’s only going to get better with practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she makes herself say. “You going into the office today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he says. “Took the day off. I’m going to make donuts with Steve later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raises her eyebrows even though her back is turned to him at the moment. She grabs a couple eggs out of the fridge, and then turns back to snag the butter. “He better not bitch too much when he gets burned by the oil because he insisted on cooking shirtless like a dumbass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can hear the mirth in Sam’s voice when he says, “We both know he will, and he’ll tell Lulu loudly that no one really cares about him except for her, and then two hours later when he’s healed, the drama will be over. And we’ll have donuts. Stupid ass doesn’t want to wear a shirt in the kitchen, he can’t expect sympathy for his pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid ass,” Nat says, grinning as she opens the silverware drawer and pulls out a knife. “So I think we’re required to offer up a small amount of sympathy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam snorts. “You do that.” He leans against the cabinet while she fries two eggs and warms up the sausage. He gets her coffee from the microwave for her and puts her creamer in just like she likes. Even if there are days it’s harder than others, she will admit that it’s kind of nice to have someone care about the way you take your coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky wanders in just as she’s sitting down to eat. “You wanna have a Teen Wolf marathon when you’re done eating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat pauses halfway through cutting her yolk. “Maybe,” she says. “Will you get me some grapes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grapes are gone,” Bucky says. “Stevie and I demolished ‘em this morning. Sam helped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a single cluster,” Sam insists. “Those two will eat just to eat, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky turns his puppy dog eyes on full blast. “But all I had was nutrient slurry through a tube for eighty years. Aren’t you glad I get to enjoy food to the fullest, Sammy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sam says, a little bit of exasperation in his voice. He’s smiling and shaking his head when Nat looks over at him, though. “But also you and Steve are </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make sure we go to Costco as often as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Costco is the best,” Bucky sniffs. He turns to the living room, where Costco’s tank is. “You hear that, Costco? You’re the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s a snake, so she doesn’t say a thing in reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She sure is,” Sam says. “Anyways, I have to go buy a new doorknob. Steve’s office door is being sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he just can’t control his huge hands,” Nat says around her mouthful of sausage. “Do we at least have any pears left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sam says, and reaches over to the fruit bowl to grab her one. “And I washed all the fruit already, so you’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat fakes surprise. “Wow, Sam. You’re my hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure am,” he says, all easy and low. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she gets caught off guard by. How easily he takes her sarcasm and turns it serious and sweet. Bucky and Steve are a little more adept on this front, but Sam’s the newer one to her. Even if she’s technically been in a relationship with all of them for an equal amount of time, Sam’s still the one she doesn’t know as well. All four of them know this, and make efforts to help out. But some things just need more time. Especially a polyamarous relationship where you were hardly even friends with one of the members beforehand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes herself reply in kind, saying, “I hope I’m at least a little bit your hero too,” but caps it off with an “I’ll come with you to the store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha knows how to disassemble a bomb in less than four minutes, pick every kind of lock ever created with little more than a bobby pin and a playing card, and can in fact fake an orgasm so well even other women can’t tell. But she’s never had reason to get familiar with all the little things the upkeep of a house requires. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course most of it isn’t that hard. But she liked putting the sink back together with Sam when she first came to stay with them. And she likes getting dirty with substances that aren’t blood, that aren’t any human fluid except her own sweat. She’s gotten down in the basement with Sam to fix a pipe that flooded the whole thing and she’s spent a couple hours with Bucky weeding the front patch where he grows his flowers. It helps her ground herself in the knowledge that this really is </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>home now, that she’s not just a guest in the boys’ house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A guest that sleeps in their bed and has sex with them and baby talks their dogs and snake (that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> brought into this relationship), and has caught on to the Costco hype because it’s honestly infectious. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be domestic. If the itch under her skin gets to be too much, she calls Phil and does a mission or two. She’s technically a consultant, even if she only works for Shield a couple times a year right now. She doesn’t even view it as work, just a necessity of her ability to </span>
  <em>
    <span>belong</span>
  </em>
  <span> the rest of the time. It’s part of her not having a before, though. It’s harder for her to completely walk away, to get exhausted with the only thing she’s ever known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knows it. But in the mean time, she’s going to go to the hardware store with Sam, wearing flip flops and no underwear because she’s never taking a stupid honeypot mission ever again and underwear (especially the sexy kind) is so goddamn uncomfortable she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to wear it if she doesn’t want to. And lately she’s been doing a whole lot more of doing things she genuinely </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. Because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Besides, it’ll be fun to watch the guys’ eyes get real round when they realize it tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam grabs her hand as they walk through the Lowe’s parking lot, swinging it a bit. She smiles as she looks up at him and he grins right back, the gap in his teeth just as cute as it was the day she first saw him flirting with Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your smile,” she says, tipping her head a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam just grins wider and squeezes her hand a bit tighter. “Funny,” he says. “I like yours too.” He plants a kiss on top of her head right before the automatic doors slide open and the smell of all home improvement stores everywhere hits her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand in front of the whole fucking wall of door knobs and start the process that should be simple, and somehow never is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat argues that even though the rest of the door knobs in the house are silver, Steve should get a gold knob because it’s his special porn drawing room. She waggles her eyebrows when she says “knob,” because she can be silly these days. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> silly these days, when the mood strikes her- and it does strike her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eight year-old her wouldn’t recognize her now- she doesn’t know how old she is. She never celebrated birthdays before Shield, and while Phil and Clint helped her pick a date for her birthday to celebrate every year, she still doesn’t know what year she was born. She knows she got a version of the serum Bucky got, though- she’s definitely stayed young longer than she should have- but the longer Natasha’s alive, the more she </span>
  <em>
    <span>tries</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be unrecognizable to her eight year-old self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam says </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at long last, because Steve would like the gold better anyways, but he insists on debating the merits of things Nat has </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> believed </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> could ever debate over on fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>door knobs.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And he apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually believes</span>
  </em>
  <span> this shit too. He doesn’t appear to be arguing for the fun of it. It throws her a bit, that it’s normal to have intense opinions about home decor. She’s not used to very much normal, even now- she settled down with three men, after all. It’s fun in its own way though, and it’s nice to know Sam’s intense opinions face is hers to have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She learns how to install a door knob. It’s really simple, actually- but she’s only ever really learned how to pick locks; how to undo and destroy and desecrate and take apart. It feels good to learn how to fix things and make new things. It feels the kind of good that makes her want to wince and turn away from the vulnerability of it all. But this self, this body that she’s in, has started embracing that kind of good. It’s a process. That’s something else Bucky gives her, in their “Learn How to Be People Again After Being a People-killing Robot for Decades” classes: the knowledge that being a human being is always evolving and changing. It’s difficult to arrive at some arbitrary point of Being a Real Human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits on the couch with Bucky and watches Teen Wolf while eating sandwiches for lunch- and for awhile after too, because they </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is part of Being a Real Human, too: </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> things, and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>After she peels herself off the couch, she and Bucky go to bug Steve for a minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is prodding the doughnut dough he and Sam made last night and left to rise and do its thing for twenty-four hours or something. This is one thing Natasha’s never really done, not even in the last few years. Cooking/baking is not her area of interest, nor of expertise. Sure, she can boil water and make an alright salad, but she’s only ever made food out of necessity, not desire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam comes up behind Steve and puts his arms around his waist. He puts his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, planting a kiss just above the neck of his t-shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s my Steve doing?” Sam says, his voice pure honey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shivers and turns red, twisting in Sam’s arms- whether towards or away from him, Nat isn’t sure even Steve knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good,” he squeaks, after a long minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Sam replies, still low and sweet, planting a kiss on the edge of Steve’s jaw. “That’s what I like to hear.” He pulls back and slaps Steve’s ass. “Let’s make our sweethearts some donuts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve, shockingly, keeps his shirt on to fry the donuts. But it is a tank top that he cut the armholes way low in, so she’s not sure how much it actually matters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pile on the porch swing together afterwards, and eat the still warm donuts covered in cinnamon sugar as the evening breeze cools their skin and the dogs horse around in the yard. Bucky gets up from the cuddle pile to throw the ball for Greg and Rosie, and Lulu convinces Sam that it’s tug of war time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat turns to Steve and makes a face. “They abandoned us,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make up for the abandonment of their partners, she climbs on his lap, tucking her feet either side of his thighs and leaning back against his broad chest. Steve must be having similar thoughts, because he buries his nose in her hair for a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M making stirfy for dinner,” he says at last, while Bucky shrieks across the yard, chasing after Sam for some perceived affront. “You wanna help cut everything up while these hooligans keep themselves busy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re one to talk,” Nat says, but she gets up, straightening her dress carefully so as not to ruin the surprise for later. A different kind of dessert, if you will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t make coffee for shit, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> cook alright when he puts his mind to it. And Bucky insists he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to put his mind to it. Sam rolls his eyes and says Steve can read a cookbook just fine, and that’s what actually matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat likes the quiet comfort of being in the kitchen with Steve while he triple checks his recipe and pretends he isn’t micromanaging the size she’s cutting the vegetables. She hipchecks him the fifth time he peers over her shoulder- or at least she tries to, because he’s a fucking brick shithouse and despite all her training, she’s still nine inches shorter than him and has a significantly slimmer build. Maybe she could have pushed him around in the thirties, but that day has long passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch it, Rogers,” she says, waving her knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, low and deep in her ear, his big, warm hands sliding over her hips. “Or what, Romanoff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blushes in spite of herself, weirdly tongue-tied. Steve, Sam, Bucky- they’re all so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span> on her. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, necessarily, because they’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> lived too long lives to be nice all the time (plus they </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> horsing around and teasing each other)- but she can hardly breathe sometimes for how much she </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t alone anymore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> how these men love and want her so very much- and make sure she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, every single day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallows past the lump in her throat and allows herself to lean back against Steve’s broad chest. “Nothing, Rogers. Nothing at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is softer than she’d like it to be, but Steve matches her tone with the kiss he presses to the top of her head, so she’ll let </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment of </span>
  <em>
    <span>way-too-fucking-vulnerable</span>
  </em>
  <span> slide for now. She lets a lot of those moments slide these days. It might be an avalanche in five years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But who fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not her, not nearly as much as she used to. She cares less and less every day she spends in the presence of her boys, being loved and living well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and Bucky pile in for dinner with the dogs, sweaty and a little gross, but Nat picks up Lulu to ward off the stinky men seeking kisses. It only half works- Bucky kind of crushes her anyways, and Sam starts wrestling Steve into smelling his armpits.</span>
</p><p><span>Greg and Rosie are being kind of awful tonight, but no one’s enforcing the rule of them not being allowed to beg at the table, so Nat isn’t saying anything if no one else is. She slips Rosie a green bean, palming it under the table, but Steve gives Greg a carrot off his plate a half a second later- not even bothering to palm it or be </span><em><span>remotely</span></em><span> subtle. Steve’s the literal worst, and none of them should be encouraging his antics, but it’s one night, and Sam is one </span><em><span>hundred</span></em> <em><span>percent</span></em><span> sneaking Rosie some of his chicken. What the hell. </span></p><p>
  <span>Nat climbs on Sam’s lap after dinner, while they’re lazing on the couch with their books and the dogs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he says, looking up from his book- </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society,</span>
  </em>
  <span> because they’ve all been passing it around and losing their minds over how sweet it is- “How can I help my Nat this fine evening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nat, and she doesn’t even really </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind</span>
  </em>
  <span> the possessiveness, because it’s playful and sweet and has nothing to do with the ownership her handlers exercised over her for so many years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” she says, tapping her chin in mock playfulness. She never used to be genuinely playful (genuinely anything, really), but she can’t help it. It’s infectious, the way the boys all joke and tease about literally everything. “Maybe a kiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t need to ask twice,” he says, the hand not holding his book sliding up her back to cradle the nape of her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things get hot and heavy pretty fast, because they tend to around these parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s kissing up the side of her neck, his hand sliding up her thigh, when he stops, feeling around her bare hip. His pupils go from “kind of aroused” to “turned on and raring to go” in less time than it takes Natasha to grin smugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother</span>
  <em>
    <span>fucker,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he groans. “Have you been like this all day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure have,” she says, laughing a little. “I think you’d ought to be used to this by now. You know I hate underwear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you steal my boxers half the time,” Steve says, pausing in his attentions on Bucky’s ear. “And Sam and Bucky’s the other half the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because they’re basically super comfortable shorts I can wear around the house with a t-shirt. And also none of you really care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shrugs. “She has a point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s still hot as hell,” Sam says. He leans in and whispers in her ear, his voice all raspy and low. “You were in Lowe’s like this. Nothing on, not even a bra, and you debated door knobs with me for a solid ten minutes, just like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles and nods, lifting her arms over her head so he can take her dress off in one fell swoop. The fan hits her bare skin pretty instantly, but Steve slides up behind her on the couch nearly immediately so she barely even feels the chill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” Steve says, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. One of his huge hands slides around Sam’s on her hip to rest on her belly. “Our best girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our best girl,” Sam echoes, and pulls her in close to kiss her real sweet and slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our best girl,” Bucky repeats, and reaches around Steve to put his hand on her knee. “Our </span>
  <em>
    <span>solnyshko</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> blush. She does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Being called their little sun doesn’t make her </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> like she’s a sun, all warmth and light bursting out of her skin for everyone to see. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> something she’s going to take a while longer to stop letting go. It’s so- too much. Too much for Bucky, who put that scar on her hip, that bullet right through her, to be in his right mind, to be here with her, loving her. Too much for Sam’s hand to be working between her legs, his gaze utterly and completely fixed on her in this moment. Too much for Steve to be such a solid presence at her back, his hands sliding over her breasts and stomach, grabbing Bucky’s on her one hip and pulling it up to his mouth to kiss-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all too much. She closes her eyes tightly and pants through the orgasm Sam is insisting on pulling out of her with so many sweet words murmured into her shoulder she’s on the verge of crying- and she is. She’s crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam kisses the tears off her face and calls her darling, Steve brushes her hair back, and Bucky- Bucky calls her </span>
  <em>
    <span>solnyshko</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. Nat has no </span>
  <em>
    <span>choice.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The tears keep rolling, even as her orgasm pulses its way through her, and she finally grasps at Sam’s wrist to stop his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s too much,” she says, her voice very small, her eyes still shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want us to stop?” That’s Steve, his dinner plate hands running across her flanks like she’s a horse that needs soothing. He means well, and it feels nice, so she doesn’t tell him to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t tell any of them to stop. She shakes her head, another tear squeezing out of her left eye, and pulls Sam into a tight hug. “Thank you for loving me,” she whispers into the solid warmth of his shoulder. He’s still wearing all his clothes. She’s pretty sure Steve is too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our pleasure,” Steve says, crushing her into Sam’s torso with the strength of his embrace from behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s why she’s here, in their bed, instead of in Islamabad or Buenos Aires or any of the places she’s carried the weapon of her body. She’s here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>home,</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her boys because she wants to be. Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> want her to be. Because they give her too much and not enough of all the love and not-being-alone she never had before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad Stevie was a stupid dumbass and kissed me first,” she says, and turns around in Sam’s lap to face the object of her teasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid dumbass,” he says, grinning, and she kisses his stupidly beautiful face, feeling happy and safe- and so, so loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck all the rest,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks, climbing </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve like a tree. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it all. This is home, and this is what </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>matters.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>Solnyshko</i> means "small sun" and is personally one of my favorite foreign language terms of endearment. It’s just so sweet imho.</p><p>Also that porch swing is one hundred percent super soldier safe hanging from a reinforced beam and everything, okay. And don't feed your dogs green beans with soy sauce and stirfry shit on them- they're really only safe without all the other human crap added on, afaik.</p><p>Comments are always appreciated, no matter how large or small! Thank you for reading, and I'm over on tumblr @karikes if you wanna poke around ✌</p></blockquote></div></div>
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